


Falling

by wolfdogmcu



Series: Maxicest [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Fluff, Sad moments inside, maxicest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfdogmcu/pseuds/wolfdogmcu
Summary: Wanda couldn't stop the memories flooding her brain. It had always been them; they had always been falling.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff/Wanda Maximoff
Series: Maxicest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567669
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Falling

They were six. Yellow and white blooms stood amongst the grass - dandelions, daisies, buttercups. Where they walked the path was worn, the mud packed down from many a repeated venture. He held her hand as they wandered along; he was afraid to let go. Overhead, the larks sang sweet melodies against the blue, while brimstone butterflies danced just below. The twins footed the trail as it strayed into the trees. 

Trips here were a daily ritual, stopped only by illness or weather restraint. They knew this place like the back of their hands. Above, the branches made a canopy, leaves rustling as squirrels shot across them. Pietro strolled ahead, his brown curls bouncing. Wanda kept up as best as she could, her more fragile frame and tendency towards distraction slowing her down. He waited when she needed him too; he was thankfully patient.

Wherever the sunlight filtered through the dense roof of leaves, they followed. The trees here grew tall, and either side of the path their hold of the land grew grander. Thickets licked at their ankles. Wanda would occasionally draw her brother's attention to passing wildlife, reaching for his wrist if she didn’t gain enough of a reply. He always listened, and made notes in his head as she detailed the sights. She slipped a hand into his.

A muntjac leapt from the undergrowth into their path. Wanda’s eyes lit up with excitement, and the pair eagerly pursued it. It was growing darker. Neither noticed at it first, too focused on following the little deer, until the trail of spattered light was so faint that they could hardly see it. Turning around, there was only darkness. Suddenly, they were falling, hands losing touch, seperated. 

-

They were eight. Tensions were rising; the news warned of a war. Over breakfast, they tried to ignore the words - they didn't mean much in the minds of children. The concepts they painted were somewhat out of the realms of their innocent minds. Their parents remained dismissive of it; the news was always bleak. For years, the television had relayed threats of war. Wanda briefly regarded the screen, eyes saddening at the bodies under the rubble it showed for a moment.

Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Pietro grabbed her hand, squeezing it, telling her they were safe. When she still didn’t appear convinced, he brought his parents into it, making them reassure her too. The people under those fallen bricks and concrete were dead. They may have been from far away, but they hammered home the concept into her young mind that perhaps they weren’t as invincible as they believed. Calming her to a reasonable level took a while, but when she was sufficiently settled, the twins set off for school.

It was the same route, flanking park fences, gardens and roads. Pietro had worked in, over the last year, a few gardens with dogs they could stop and pet. Wanda loved to fuss them. The way her face lit up when they lapped at her hands, and when she felt the soft touch of their fur, made him incredibly happy. They passed all the dog spots as they approached the school. It felt necessary today.

Kids yelled joyfully on the playground, kicking footballs and playing on the equipment. Parents said goodbye as they dropped the younger ones off. Pietro lead Wanda to the wooden wendy house they tended to inhabit. They stepped inside; the ground collapsed underneath them.

-

They were ten. The bomb shattered their home. Their parents fell into the hole the shell made. Everything rattled with the roar of planes above. Trapped in the rubble, they sobbed and shook. No matter how loud they cried, wailing desperately for help, they gained no response. The last sound from their parents they heard was a death rattle. Pietro had to drag Wanda under cover, pulling her under the bed. Her body had turned to stone, clinging onto him like her life depended on it. 

Maybe it did. He was all she had for safety, as explosions filled the air around them. Each one made the floor shake. Wanda was silent a while, listening to her brother's pounding heart and ragged breathing. Outside, there was chaos. Screams of fright and rumbles of encroaching death became the background radiation. They lay there, shivering, seeing only the crumbled bricks, broken furniture, and the scraps of their dinner.

When next shell fell, it fell right before them. Wanda’s frightful yowl filled the air. Her nails dug into Pietro’s back. The bomb didn't go off. When she pulled her head from his chest, her eyes were focused on it. His glance moved between it and her, shielding her in the event of it going off. It was a meaningless gesture. There was nothing either of them could do. 

_ Stark Industries _

They read those words repeatedly across the two days they were trapped under the bed. Both flit in and out of consciousness. They were starving. They were dehydrated. They and their tattered clothes were soiled with bodily fluids and packed mud. Every slight movement, even the slightest fall of the bricks around them, filled them with dread. When the rescue team arrived, they both struggled to walk. Pietro wouldn't let go of his sister, screaming in his hoarse voice if anyone tried to take her away.

As they were led to the ambulance, they were swallowed by a hole in the Earth. 

\--------

They were fourteen. Everything was destroyed. Most of their town was reduced to rubble, some buildings existing only as bare frameworks. People slept in the streets in their rags. Children clung to mothers, malnourished and shivering in the Sokovian freeze. There were bodies by the gutters; the dogs took what they could. 

The twins were working on making shelters, using the salvageable scraps from demolished buildings. Wanda wasn't much use for heavy lifting, and so she worked on mixing the fallen powders into collected rain water to use as cement. The buildings wouldn't be the most long lasting, but they would provide more protection from the elements than the bitter streets. 

Pietro would only work if he could remain close to Wanda. She had to stay in his line of sight. If she so much as appeared unwell, or exhausted, he intervened. It was natural - they were all each other had now, and he couldn’t afford to take risks. Sometimes she found his fussing to be almost suffocating, particularly if she was fine when he started, but she couldn't deny a sense of pleasure in knowing how much he cared. 

Work finished, and they sat together where the forest used to be. Felled trees made decent enough benches. Pietro opened up a tin of peaches, and they sat and shared them in silence. This scorched Earth was once their stomping ground. Her head leaned against his shoulder. The ground below them vanished, and the descent made her stomach turn. 

-

They were eighteen. Things had gotten worse. Warfare was active enough that Sokovian troops occasionally bothered themselves to patrol the remnants of the town. People were angry, rebelling against their oppressors. The twins joined the riots in the streets, desperate to chase out the encroaching foreign forces. 

Every gun, bullet, and shell bore the name of their modern day Perses. It was a constant reminder of those nights, smothered by the wreckage was their home and staring down the bomb. Now adults, more aware of it all, with a defined understanding of the world, their mourning and fear became hatred.

The experiments came. What they were offered was too great to pass up; they could have power they dreamed of. Wanda had her doubts, focused on the risks and the sincerity of these people’s claims. Pietro swore it would all be worth it, that they could destroy those who put them in this place. They could have that revenge on Stark that they hungered for. She succumbed to his influence. 

Before the separation, they had a moment to themselves. It would be the last time they saw each other as they were. She was crying, unable to shift the thought that this could go horribly wrong. He held her close, repeating like a mantra that they would come out of this okay. Wanda leaned back in his hold, hands on his shoulders. He cupped her cheek. Their lips met.

Suddenly, they were falling once more.

-

They were eighteen. The experiments were, for them, a success. It failed on the other volunteers. Wanda could taste the burning smell - hair and skin. Pietro was in the holding cell beside her; she could feel him there. She could sense his thoughts; with concentration, she could hear them. He was extremely on edge - adrenaline coursing through him. With the connection, she could feel it through her own body. She tried to transfer a sense of calm, but his fright proved infectious, and things just got worse.

For days on end, as their powers were tested to the limit, Pietro would scream and fight. He tried to smash his way out of the cell, throwing punches at the glass and launching his whole weight into it. Like a trapped animal, he would run back and forward by the door, slamming against it. His hands were bleeding; his mouth was dry. Eventually, the door opened, but only to sedate him. Wanda was leaning against the wall between them, sobbing into her knees. 

Surveillance was constant, except in the latest hours of the night. In that time, she would whisper to him, quiet reassurances and ‘I love you’s. Wanda insisted that they would be allowed to go soon, that this would be worth it when they  _ were  _ free. He cried that he missed her. The door of his cell opened. The floor disappeared from below. 

-

They were twenty-one. It was the battlefield; they had made it their own. The Avengers were here. They invaded their home. It turned Wanda’s stomach. Pietro was itching to fight, though he initially remained close to his sister, keeping a hold on her wrist. The H.Y.D.R.A team wanted to keep them here - they couldn’t care less about what they wanted. Before they could be contained, they were in the fight.

It went as well as it could have gone. The seeds of chaos were sewn now, and they could only wait for another opportunity to attack. She’d planted insecurity into Tony’s head; they would tear each other apart from the inside. When it was over, Pietro grabbed her, thundering back into town. They would need to make the most of a limited rest time. 

He brushed the hair from her eyes, his hands sliding to hold her cheeks.   
“You’re okay? You’re fine?”   
“Yes, Piet, knock it off,” She laughed softly, batting his hands away, “You don’t need to fuss.”   
“I can’t let anything happen to you. You’re not so quick, you could get hurt.”   
“I’m tougher than I look, you know that.” 

It wasn’t long after this that they were called on by Ultron, to be recruited as puppets in his own game against The Avengers. She couldn’t trust him, not with the fact that she couldn’t get inside his head. Pietro remained sceptical in turn, standing protectively by his sister’s side. Reluctance came with their reply. As soon as they agreed, they plummeted. 

-

They were twenty-one. Ultron had been defeated. The Avengers, once their enemy, had willingly taken them in. The building was nice, clean, and spacious: perfect for the older twin who needed a lot of room to charge around in. However, he had no intentions to explore just yet. He had Wanda to guard. 

But Wanda, in her mind, did not need guarding, or so she said. Generally, she said this in the presence of other people, and he was certain it was an act. In spite of her words, she hung close to his side, and became visibly distressed whenever he went away. Though, when he  _ was  _ with her, she also grew visibly distressed when his protectiveness became interference. It seemed there was no winning with her sometimes.

Because of his tendency to put minding his sister over politeness, he often ended up lashing out at people. The only person he didn't snap at was Clint, because he viewed the man as a toy. He was rarely here at the moment, busy looking after his new baby, but whenever he stopped by, Pietro turned the annoying up to the max. It was fairly amusing, and had lead to Clint saying he was more trouble than his newborn.   
"He's always been like this," was Wanda's response.

Most of their day was spent hanging about the complex, getting used to the surroundings and adjusting to their company. For a few weeks, things were fine. She stayed by his side, keeping him in check. He kept her close, so she would be out of 'harm's way'. This was acceptable.

But time passed, and reasonably, suspicions about the nature of their relationship arose. It was  _ Wanda _ who was giving it away, without intention, from the way she acted around him. Small signs, little gestures, things that would go over the heads of most people. The complex wasn’t home to most people - it was home to people like Natasha, who was already catching on.

Wanda would always sit snuggled up into Pietro, comfortable in his arms which wrapped around her as soon as she was there. She would occasionally throw her legs over his, and in turn he often pet the outside of her thigh much like one would pet a sleeping cat. In these rest periods, she often traced circles on the fabric of his shirt, or toyed with the zips of his hoodie. 

At first, Natasha dismissed this, as perhaps they weren't quite aware that this was in any way an odd behaviour. But then, she noticed a different recurrence. Quite often, Wanda would place her hands on Pietro's face, if they were standing facing each other. Her thumbs would brush over the stubble on his cheeks, and on one instance, over his bottom lip. He always seemed sweetened by this, and would play with her hair or pull her close. 

It was strangely intimate. Things continued to crop up over a month or so, including the realisation that they were definitely sharing a room, and Natasha tried to consider the appropriate confrontation. They would need to stop it, not just for the fact it wasn’t conventioanlly acceptable, but because it would cause a great deal of public backlash if it became known.

The twins were sitting at the breakfast bar. Pietro's hoodie hung from Wanda's frame. It looked like they weren't long out of bed.    
"We need to talk about something," Her tone was serious, and they flinched back, "Let's go somewhere private."    
Once they stepped down from the stools, they were falling.

-

Wanda woke in a cold sweat. Her ears were ringing, the light above her was blinding. Everything was blurry. She was in a panic. The dreams she had been having stampeded her brain. Loud beeping filled the room. Footsteps came at an alarming pace. The voices were muffled, indiscernible. 

All except one. 

It came from the doorway, and then it was immediately beside her. The source grabbed her hand, and as her eyes were beginning to adjust to the violent white light in the room, she looked towards him. Pietro. 

He was, for lack of a better description, sobbing disgustingly. Both his cheeks and his much thicker beard were soaked from tears, his nose red raw from sniffling. His hair was greasy, and his eyes were puffy, with dark bags below them. He smelled strange - sweaty yet sterile. There was no way that changed clothes he had changed recently. 

Suddenly, he wasn't holding her hand, he was hugging her. He clutched her tightly to his chest and whispered a mixed repetition of 'my darling, I love you, I told you, you'd be okay' in Sokovian. Wanda raised her hands to hug him, nose buried in his neck. He was in no clean state, but he was very much  _ him,  _ and that was what mattered.

Wanda didn't understand what was going on until he eventually moved away. The stool he sat on squealed on the floor. She glanced at him, then to the rhythmically beeping machine. There was something in her hand; her chest was in agony, like she had been kicked. Disinfectant hung about the air.

This was a hospital. She was in a single room. Natasha stood in the doorway, gaze laced with relief and sympathy. It was time to give them some privacy, and so she gave a brief goodbye, and shut the door, leaving them alone.

"What happened?" Wanda's voice was weak, barely present.   
Pietro looked surprised that she couldn't remember, and moved so he could sit on the edge of her bed. He pet her hair softly.   
"That's not an answer," She leaned into it regardless.   
"You got shot. We thought you wouldn't make it."

A wave of crying hit him again. Wanda reached a hand, much to the drip line's resistance, to try and comfort him.   
"Dear, no. Careful," His voice crackled; he moved her hand back.   
"Why was Natasha there?"   
"The talk, I think."   
"What talk?"   
"The 'there's a chance she won't come round' talk."

There was a silence. His fingers brushed her cheek. Staring down at her with a love in his eyes, he was so glad to see the same look returned from her own. Now, Wanda was crying, and he did his best to soothe her, particularly since the sobs were hurting her chest immensely. Each whimper made her body jerk slightly.

"How long was I…?"   
"Maybe a month now? I lost track. I stayed here."   
"The whole time?"   
"The whole time."   
"You need a shower."

He pulled a face - the 'are you really doing this right now?' face. The response brought a laugh from him, and he leaned down to kiss her on the head.   
"So do you, you're greasy. For when you're allowed out of bed, I'll get you some nice bath and shower stuff."   
"You should make use of those."

Joy filled his heart. All this teasing, he had missed so terribly. Her voice made his heart swell. Despite the exhaustion on her face, to see it so alive now made him want to fall to his knees and thank the lord. Nothing could have made him feel better than this. As she lay in that bed, she told him about the dreams. They recollected fondly on their childhood play areas, and the happier moments they had before the war. The topic turned serious soon after.

"I need to tell you. Natasha, she knows about us."   
Panic struck Wanda - the heart monitor loudly confirmed that.   
"She said she would keep it quiet. I ended up telling her one night, when you were going downhill. She was understanding, I think. Doesn't get it, but she doesn't outright object. Just said keep it on the low down."   
She nodded.

"I missed you, so much. Wanda, I don't know what I would have done. I was terrified. But you're here. You're here, you're here…"   
Emotions hit him like a truck. Watching him with teary eyes, she gestured for him to come closer to her.    
"I can't believe you're okay. You are my world. Thank you. I love you. I love you so much. I told you this every day too. Did you hear me?"   
"I did. I heard you," She laughed through a sniffle, “I love you too.”

There was no better way to punctuate this conversation, than with the soft kiss he left on her lips.    
"You need lip balm."   
"You need toothpaste."   
"So do you."

**Author's Note:**

> Incest ships have never really been my thing, but this appeals to me. Its also a concept that I've wanted to work with for a while - a snapshot style.


End file.
